


Welcome To Heartbreak

by KayCeeCruz



Category: Queer As Folk - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayCeeCruz/pseuds/KayCeeCruz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A complete AU where Justin and Brian never meet, Gus is never born and Brian runs away from having to be the one unchanging facet in his family and friend's lives. Brian and Justin find each other. And the rest is out of their hands.</p><p> </p><p><i>He has a vivid memory - that's how he would describe it - of Justin mouthing along his spine, hands flexing over the muscles of his back, breath falling wet against his skin. </i></p><p>Brian trembles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome To Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qafbigbang](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=qafbigbang).



> During a discussion with wouldbedorothy she talked about this bunny she had for a Brian/Justin AU vid using Kanye West's "Welcome to Heartbreak" and then THIS happened. Written for qafbigbang challenge!

He wants.

Beats that pulse against his arched back and Brian's half shuttered eyes roll backwards, hips jerk into heat. Jaw clenches, hands grip tight in damp hair, he searches deeper for…something. He pushes of the wall, all the way in, feels muscles clamp around him, then relax and Brian plunges hard.

He wants...something.

Michael's voice filters through hazy dissatisfaction and he glares over, pants out a quick "Give me a fucking minute, Mikey." He catches that infuriating flash of pain that crosses Michael's face every time and bites down on the words that fill up his throat. He groans loud, eyes the slumped retreat of Michael's back and speeds up, rams harder. It was getting old. His role in all the fucking drama. He comes too fast, doesn't realize he has until its done. It fades even before he pulls out. He removes the condom, drops it on the floor and pats the twinks' hip as he turns.

Brian thinks briefly that he might not have let him finish.

He finds he really doesn't care and frowns.

It's all fuzzy inside and he makes his way out of the darkness, follows the sounds as they grow louder until its only those same beats from before, thumps that make their way through his bones.

Leaves nothing in their wake.

He wants…something _more_.

He maneuvers easily around writhing bodies, avoids outstretched hands and fingers, the occasional yank of his hips. He makes out the boys, lined up in a row against the bar and rolls his eyes. Ted is looking at Michael with that same ridiculous face and Brian smirks, meets his eyes and stares until Ted glances away.

He reaches for the shot on the counter by Emmett's elbow, swallows it down in a gulp, slams the glass on the bar.

"Oh, no, that's okay. I didn't want it anyway." Emmett glares at him, waves for another and Brian shrugs, reaches to tuck him in.

He laughs when Emmett bats him away.

Michael pouts and Brian feels that growing shade of hate roll inside his stomach. He kisses Michael's head to make it disappear, throws one arm over his shoulder and marches them out.

"Let's get the fuck out of here. Nothing worthwhile."

They prattle about his conquest, bitch about their lack of one and Brian starts to tell them all to fuck off when he glimpses something in the distance down the street. A quick shimmer -

Michael is suddenly in front of him and Brian focuses down. He makes a face when Michael talks about Brian making the right decision. That he would have missed him if Brian had decided to take the job offer in New York.

Brian thinks that he will eventually have to tell Michael he did.

He hugs him instead, kisses his forehead and when he glances back down the street, there's nothing but smoke and the glow of a streetlamp.

 

*

 

That night he dreams of light and blood and pain. He sees red, smells that metallic scent. He recalls blond hair, swears he feels the softness of silky strands on his skin.

He looks into warm blue eyes, stops to kiss the grin from the face underneath him, stutters into the heat.

He wakes up with a hard cock.

He comes in two strokes, feels that bone deep relief.

He pats his face and wonders why its wet.

 

*

 

Michael doesn't talk to him for a week when he tells the gang that he took the job.

He puts the loft up for sale.

He starts packing boxes of shit he doesn't event think he really wants.

Lindsay comes by to help him, mentions that she started dating, Melanie, the lawyer friend of hers that had helped Brian out before.

He nods at her, tells her congrats, asks that she not call him for the sperm when they decide to create life or whatever the fuck dykes do.

She slaps his face lightly, kisses his cheek and promises he'd be the last one to cross her mind.

Brian ignores the pinprick of something he can't quite name and folds his shirts into the open box on his bed.

 

*

 

The loft sells for more than he'd thought it would.

Brian makes up with Michael.

They throw him a farewell party at Debbie's.

Brian drinks too much, fucks one of Lindsay's artist friends in the bathroom and forgets not to hug Ted and Emmett.

He gets on a plane the next day.

 

*

 

New York is this sprawling line of towering glass and steel. Cold and distant, which Brian appreciates more than he's willing to admit even to himself. He walks down dirty sidewalks, bustles behind business men, women in suits, men in dresses, people who never glance his way, never ask about his day. He looks few in the face, doesn't care if they notice him at all.

It feels a lot like freedom.

It looks too much like loneliness.

That's what Michael always says over the phone, voice resigned. He wonders if Brian is eating. Asks if he's still being careful. Tells him they miss him.

Brian thinks it's all bullshit.

Nobody but Michael (and maybe Lindsay) gives a shit that he isn't there.

And Michael's reasons for that are something Brian doesn't look at too closely.

He tries to visit once or twice. But finds that he can't fit into the role he's supposed to play. Feels like punching Ted when he asks Brian how many rounds of antibiotics he's had to undergo. Wants to stand up and leave when everyone else laughs.

He smiles, tells Ted he won't ever have to worry about that, will he? Falls into the pattern of what they want him to be.

Brian suddenly hates the diner and his friends - his family - and wants to be as far away as he can be.

It's not that Brian doesn't fuck men in New York. That's like _not_ breathing. He isn't any less of a whore in the Big Apple than he was in the Pitts.

The difference is that he doesn't _have_ to.

That realization stops him in the middle of shoving a blond against the back wall of the club he is in. His eyes fall on the glint of the wedding band on the hand he has pinned up against the brick building. He glances down at his hand halfway into this strangers pants. He lets go and steps back.

"What's wrong?"

Brian eyes him. Blond hair cut short, blue eyes not quite the shade Brian wants, face too chiseled and he shakes his head.

"Not interested."

He wants to laugh at the incredulous look he receives but swallows it, watches as the blonde huffs away and calls out a "Tell your wife and kids I said hello." He gets a dirty hand gesture and that _does_ make him chuckle.

He goes home alone.

He stops going back to Pittsburgh.

 

*

 

It's not that Brian doesn't realize having dreams - about _some_ guy you don't even fucking _know_ \- for over _three years_ isn't just a little - well, fucked up. He knows this. He's the one that told Alex, that time he was drunk enough to break down and call a professional, that it was fucked up.

Alex had insisted it really, _really_ wasn't.

Brian rolls his eyes when Alex says that it's Brian's subconscious trying to get him to realize that maybe he wants more from life than he's getting.

He shouldn't have mentioned all the domestic crap. He shouldn't have.

And it's not even the dreams that worry Brian. He's been having them for so long that they became just a part of his routine.

It's how he feels when he wakes up.

Like his skin is stretched out too far and he can't always breathe right away. Some nights he wakes with his hand already around his cock, stroking fast and hard, spilling hot over his stomach. Others he wakes up with his heart in his throat from the scream he couldn't let loose in his dreams.

It's the times where his chest hurts from some phantom ache he doesn't understand, where he can still feel the touch of strangely familiar hands on his skin and he has to curl into a ball, swallowing what he refuses to call grief down that he wants to rip the images from his head with his bare hands.

 

*

 

"You know, it isn't healthy not to look at them directly, Brian."

He grabs for the almost empty bottle of Beam, squints at the screen to read whatever he'd just been sent - and fuck he did _not_ need glasses - and replies with a snort.

"This is why I fucking call you, Alex."

He hears the loud exhalation of air before Alex responds.

"And I've told you, Brian, these dreams, they're all you. You're telling yourself something."

"Right."

Alex grunts.

"Until you come to terms with what they mean, you'll keep having them. And calling me in the middle of the fucking night, drunk off your ass wanting an explanation."

Brian types back a quick response telling his new friend to stick two fingers up his ass and ride until Brian tells him to stop. "That's bullshit."

"Good night, Brian."

He pays no attention to the dial tone.

 

*

 

Michael calls to tell him that he and the Professor are getting married - some commitment ceremony deal that Brian tries not to laugh at. He bites back the immediate no when Michael asks him to be his best man. There's a tone in his voice that Brian remembers. The one he had run away from.

Michael needs his approval.

Part of Brian wants to shake him, tell him he is a _fucking_ grown man and his decision are _his_ decisions. But that bit of him that loves Michael won't let him. It wasn't a joke to Michael. He had matured away from Brian. He found love like he wanted. The things Brian could never have given him.

But one word from Brian could still break his heart.

Distance has taught Brian that sometimes he doesn't know jack shit about his friends.

And sometimes, he knows them too well.

He gets on a plane two weeks later, a present in his suitcase and doesn't even feel the slightest need to cover that fact up.

 

*

He never knows when the dreams became so detailed. They stop being jumbled bits of images. Brian thinks of them like a 3D experience where he can taste, touch and feel instead of just see.

He lives them now instead of remembers.

Knows the exact shape of the fingers splayed across his hips. Can remember the different shades of blonde and blue. When he laughs, Brian feels it across his skin and senses it crawl inside. There's the rustle of sheets and their tangled limbs. Brian's hands delve into soft silk and breathes their mingled morning scent.

He watches the bat hit. Hears the sound of wood against flesh and bone. Warmth of blood spreading over his fingers. Hurts as his voice wrenches out, his knees biting into the cold concrete when he screams.

 

*

 

He stops the car in front of Debbie's house and Brian stares at it for a long moment. He can admit that this is the only home he remembers at all. Every major event that meant anything to him happened there. It seems like an eternity since the last one. He steps out of the black Lincoln rental, Gucci shoes crunching on the frozen snow and he climbs up to the porch, knocking a few times.

Debbie opens the door, pulls him into a hug, calls him a little shit for being late and hustles him inside the house. It's warm and smells like he remembers: pasta sauce and Debbie's Midnight in Paris perfume. He glances at the crowd in the living room and waves.

Michael hugs him hard, holds for a few moments too long and Brian moves away to embrace Ben. He pulls back, eyes Brian then grins and drags him over to the cradle set up in the corner. The bundle of blankets moves and Brian smiles a little when a small fist pops out.

"Brian meet Jenny Rebecca."

Brian lowers his hand into the cradle, watches as the small fist opens and grabs his little finger hard.

"She's got quite a grip. I think JR is going to be one popular girl."

"Brian!" Lindsay swaps at him before pulling him into a tight hug. "You never change."

He doesn't comment, just squeezes back and turns to Mel who stands just a few feet behind Lindsay. She smiles at him and waves quickly as she steps closer. Her hug is gentle and he returns it. They have never been more than friendly. She was a great lawyer and made Lindsay happy. That's all he really needs to know.

Hunter moves into his line of vision and Brian nods at him. He scowls, rolls his eyes and disappears into the kitchen.

When Michael had mentioned that he and Ben had decided to adopt the littlest hustler, Brian hadn't been able to manage keeping what he thought to himself.

"Better make sure to bolt down anything worth any kind of value"

Michael had sighed, told Brian that he trusted Ben's decision and never mentioned it again.

He knows, from speaking with Emmett, that things became more tense once news of JR's existence came to be. He glances at Ben, raises an eyebrow and only receives a shake of head. He hopes that means things are under control.

Ted and Emmett emerge from upstairs and Brian blinks as they fuss with their clothes, straighten and grin at each other stupidly.

Oh, Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

His eyes fall on Vic, sitting quietly on the couch and he grins, moves to bend down. Feels the soft caress over his head and kisses his sunken cheek. He doesn't look as good as he had the last time Brian had seen him but that's how that fucking disease works.

Brian spends several minutes filling Vic in on New York, his job, the faceable men, the non-faceable ones, the clubs. He ignores that gnawing pain in his chest and smiles when Vic tells him about his unruly days as a youth.

Dinner is a study in patience and Brian tries harder then he ever has before. It's been over a year and he knows that he misses them. He's willing to admit that sometimes. Alone. At night. But these are the times when he has to bite his tongue from chewing them out. Their constant jokes about his legend as the fuck of Liberty Avenue. Which okay. Yeah. It's not something Brian is ashamed of because - fuck that - he's amazing.

He _should_ be legen-fucking-dary.

He's just not that person anymore. He knows that now. They don't.

For some reason, they don't talk much about him, though, which he finds is really nice. He gets the newest gossip. Ted and Emmett regale him with the story about how they became a couple. He laughs because well - it's Emmett and Ted. He can't be the only one that sees the disaster written all over this. And he almost says something then thinks better of it.

He's never been the one to stop them from fucking up.

He's the person that cleans the mess after it happens.

Brian thinks that changing that now would upset the balance. He knows they couldn't handle that.

So, he sits and listens. Hides the roll of his eyes when Michael sits at his side and pulls out an entire album of pictures of his daughter. Brian thinks it's a little ridiculous since he can see her perfectly from his spot on the couch.

He blinks at the amount of them and wonders if this isn't a record. The kid is barely a month old. Michael points out the one from her first doctor's appointment and Brian smirks. JR's face is scrunched up - the image probably taken moments before she started crying - and it reminds Brian so much of Michael that he snorts.

He turns to Ben while Michael is distracted by something "cute" that JR is doing and mentions the resemblance to Ben. He lets out a laugh that shakes the couch and Brian remembers why he actually fucked the Professor all that time ago.

Michael is almost finished torturing him, thank god, and Brian plans on getting a drink or two from the kitchen when Michael flips to the last page and Brian freezes.

There's a drawing of JR and Lindsay, done in the traditional pencil style he hadn't seen since college. The details are - he can see the definition of Lindsay's cheeks, the wrinkles of her hands against JR's back, the fuzz of the blanket, JR's too fine hair. It comes off the page so vivid that Brian reaches out to touch it through the clear plastic cover.

Michael pauses and looks at him. Brian doesn't meet his eyes.

"That's - really good."

Lindsay stops at his side to see what he's studying. When she realizes what it is her smile is wide. "It's incredible. The artist is really talented."

Brian nods and asks "Who did it?"

"One of the waiters at the diner. He's really good. "

The initials at the bottom right hand corner capture his eye.

JT.

Ben shifts to glance at the drawing over his shoulder and Brian can feel his smile. Michael is talking - something about having proposed starting a comic. Ben nods and reaches over Brian to touch Michael's face. "I think you and Justin would do great, baby."

Brian's chest feels strange - this tingle shooting down his spine - and he breathes in a loud breath. Emmett glances up from where he was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out and gives him a narrowed stare.

"Brian? You okay?"

He is fine. Nothing going on here.

"Yeah."

He closes the album with a slam and moves away into the kitchen, grabbing that drink and a shot that Vic hands him. He downs them both, takes another and it follows the previous ones. The tingling is gone and he relaxes slightly. When he glances at Vic, he can see the worry but he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead he grabs a passing Ben and pulls out his Blackberry, finding the file of images and shows them both the new hardwood floors in his apartment.

If he had to put up with their baby pictures, they could stand a few of Brian's. He senses someone behind and turns to find Hunter trying to act as if he wasn't actually looking. Ben puts his arm around his adopted son and says, "Did Michael tell you that Hunter just got straight A's?" He can see the blush on the kid's cheeks and flashes back to the days when Debbie would make Brian and Michael chocolate cake for getting high scores on their big tests.

Hunter shrugs but Brian knows better. He remembers what that felt like.

"Yeah? Gonna ask for anything for those grades?"

Ben pokes Brian's shoulder. "Don't give him any ideas."

Hunter smirks. "I tried the car angle. Didn't work."

Brian touches his screen and flips it so Hunter can get a clear view. He almost laughs when the kid's mouth drops open. "That yours?"

He nods. "Yeah. Just got her."

"Fuck me."

"Hunter!" Michael's voice carries from the living room and Brian raises an eyebrow because. Come on.

"It's a fucking Corvette! "

Brian feels the tightness loosen some and he forgets anything else for the moment.

 

*

 

There are two specific dreams that Brian hates. And being that he is Brian Kinney, they are completely polar ones.

The one that leaves him with a sore throat from screaming - where he wakes up with the sensation of blood on his skin, smell of it still in his nostrils. It takes him several minutes to calm down, stop the trembling of his hands, before he can reach into his drawer and pull out his pharmaceuticals. He never dreams twice in one night.

The other is almost as scary.

He lies in his bed, hands wrapped around soft, smooth skin. Can smell them in the air (Brian never wonders how he knows that's what they smell like. He just knows) and tastes salty sweat. Licks into that sighing mouth he has etched into his mind. He can feel his heart swell and he can't breath. Not properly.

It's the smile he receives that kills him every time. Bright and wide. The laugh that expels from full lips, twinkle of crystalline eyes and it grows from his toes up. He doesn't know what it is. Not completely.

But he knows what it could be.

Brian wakes from that dream reaching for relief and ends with the throbbing ache he hates so intently because nothing makes it better. In the beginning, he tried to fill with bodies. Numerous never-ending bodies. He added gallons of alcohol when that stopped easing it. Drugs with that became less. Until he woke up not knowing what the fuck he'd done the night before and missing eight hundred dollars.

Discretion was the word after that.

He wakes up, hand covering his hard as stone cock, twists his hands over the head, closes his eyes and lets the image come. He arches up, fast and hard until it hurts. It shoots out in ribbons, hot and sticky but the ache stays. He waits a full minute before wiping off, gets to his feet and into the shower. He glances at the clock, cringes when he realizes that its not even midnight and when did he become this fucking old that sleep before three a.m. was the norm?

In the shower to clean off and he jumps out, primps in the mirror with expensive hair crème, cologne from Paris, lotion that cost hundreds of dollars. Brian grabs a black shirt and jeans, his Prada shoes and the leather jacket Cynthia gave him for his last death day. He still thinks he pays her too much if she can afford Dolce.

He doesn't think about anything. Sets his direction to the nearest club and hunts the night for something to take off the edge, wash away the ache for a little while.

Reminds himself to stay away from the twinks with golden hair.

 

*

 

He doesn't know when he decides its time to make his mark. It's been coming slowly. Brian used to love his job. Going in for the kill. Being brilliant. Managing to win that client. Even fucking them into submission used to thrill him. He thinks it was when it became something they wanted him to do that he knew it was time to move on.

He tells Cynthia that he wants to branch out on his own. Asks her to come with him. She's been one of the few constants in his life in the last four years. He knows that he can't do it in New York. Not yet. He has plans to expand eventually.

His best bet is to return to the place he knows. Start there. Take over the world from somewhere no one would expect.

He doesn't blame her for being dubious. Who the fuck wants to leave New York to go back to Pittsburgh? She gives him a piercing look, studies him with that way of hers that convinces him she might know him better than he wants her to, and finally nods her agreement.

With the condition that she get her own assistant and a corner office.

This is why he kind of loves her a little.

Brian decides he doesn't want to tell anyone yet. They'll make a fuss. Michael would try to give him advice. He shows up one morning at Michael's to hugs and kisses. More pictures to look at. He stops short in front of a huge painting on the wall. It's a comic panel of Captain Astro and he looks at the bottom right corner automatically.

JT.

"Another one from the waiter artist?"

Michael glances up and smiles fondly. "Yeah. He gave it to me for my last birthday."

He doesn't say anything more and drags Michael to the diner for breakfast.

Michael heads to the back to bring out his mother and Deb pats Brian's hair, kisses his cheek and doesn't bother to ask his order, saying he needs to be fed. He bitches her out, receives a smack to the back of his head and ten minutes later he has a plate of grease in front of him. Somehow during the time he was gone, Debbie had come to the conclusion that she actually liked him. Brian figures it's because he stopped screwing with Michael's heart like Debbie had always accused him off.

Probably the fact that he kept his whoring, drugging ways from touching her son any more than necessary helped with the loving feelings.

He glances around the diner, searching for - he doesn't even know.

"Is the infamous JT here?"

Michael looks up, fork halfway to his mouth. "Justin?"

Brian swallows and feels a tremor up his spine. He takes a deep breath and tries not to choke. He eyes his plate.

"Yeah. I guess."

Debbie pulls up at their side to refresh the coffee, gum snapping and shakes her head. "Oh, Justin took the week off. He had some business to take care."

Brian closes his eyes at the disappointment he feels. Ignores the tingling sensation in his chest. This is getting ridiculous. He doesn't even know why the fuck he suddenly felt like he did.

 

*

 

The dreams change some.

They feature his family now.

He can see the interior of the apartment in detail. The vaulted ceilings, exposed brick walls, the steel beams in the middle of the space, stairs leading from the first floor to the second. He thinks there's even a third set. He watches Michael talking with him, laughing. Feels that rush through him when he meets happy, sparking eyes.

There are paper strewn all over his floor that he can't quite make out. Emmett and Vic in his kitchen. Ted pouring over what looks like books. Brian thinks that leaving the porn business was the best thing to ever happen to Ted.

He feels…different. Calm. Settled.

And when he wakes up, he throws his arm over his face and tries to hold on to it before it fades away like it always does.

 

*

 

He reviews the paperwork Mel faxed him, makes notes in the margins where he thinks they can improve the pricing. There's another pile of documents in his briefcase under the seat in front of him and Brian wonders if he might end up regretting doing this.

There's a shift in the seat next to him and he glances over. Brian blinks in surprise at the college age girl that sits down and smiles at him. First class rarely has college kids. They can't even begin to afford the rates even from a flight that only lasts a couple of hours. He nods in return, brings his attention back to his work.

Mel had worked overtime to help find a suitable apartment for him. His old loft had been remodeled and she seemed to think it was worth taking a look at it. He doesn't think he'd want to go back. Brian refuses to acknowledge that his dreams - Alex started calling them visions - were actually anything more than that: dreams.

Brian flips another folder open, reads the dimensions and stats for all the buildings he wants to look at. None of them fit. He knows that he is picker than most people. He wants - he doesn't think in box. Never has. He wants his company to stand on the same principle.

No thinking in a box.

No living in a box.

Definitely no working in a box.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and closes the folder with a snap. He notices that they've taken off already and stares out of the window.

"You know, my dad is a doctor and he even he doesn't have that much work to do."

Brian turns his head, meets the young girls' eyes and raises his brow up. He doesn't know why she's talking and before he can ask her she continues with her train of thought. Brian learns she has a lot of those. She tells him about her trip to New York to look at graduate schools. He finds out she's a psychology major which explains her tendency to talk and talk and talk. She asks questions about his work.

He answers as politely as he can and tries not to enjoy her company even the fraction that he does. He only asks her one question.

"How the fuck did you afford first class?"

Her snort is loud and a few passengers glare their way.

"Oh, that. Got bumped up." She bumps his arm and grins. "Lucky you, huh?"

He rolls his eyes and huffs a "Yeah."

She laughs at the snark he reserves for the passing flight attendant. Brian contemplates grabbing him for a quick fuck in the bathroom but he's not desperate. The guy can't take a hint, though. After the third time he gets hit on, he catches the girl's grin and looks at her directly for the first time.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just - you sort of remind me of - well, that's not true."   
He waits for her to finish, knows she will.

"I just think my best friend would find you fascinating. You're - I don't know. You're not his usual type but - you probably should be." She laughs at herself and shakes her head, stretching back as they announce over the speakers that they are getting ready to land at Pittsburgh International.

Brian doesn't respond and starts to shove papers into his overstuffed briefcase.

"You know - I never asked what your name was?"

He stops, angles his face her way and smirks. "Brian. Kinney." He almost laughs when she puts her hand out because she just spent the last two hours telling Brian her entire life story.

Surprisingly, he doesn't hate her and thinks she might make a great doctor after all. Charm goes a long way.

He takes her hand, her smile very pretty and he fights returning it.

"I'm Daphne. Chanders. Nice to meet you, Brian."

They walk off the plane together and down to luggage claim. She tilts her head, searching the room and her grin returns. She had mentioned her best friend again. He was supposed to pick her up.

They part at the sign for car rentals and he glances back to see her running toward a big crowd. He blinks and she's disappeared.

He shakes his head at the weirdness of his life and shuffles toward the car rental line.

 

*

 

Some nights he doesn't dream at all.

Brian feels the loss everywhere.

 

*

 

"You are a psychological branch all your own, Kinney."

Brian rolls his eyes, takes another hit from the toke and holds it in before blowing it out slowly, watches the smoke curl in the air. He knew he was special.

"Save me the bullshit and just tell me why."

Alex sighs deeply, mumbles a quick apology to someone and Brian hears the sheets rustling, a door opening and closing. He imagines Alex padding across his apartment and it correlates with the sounds coming through the line. There's a grunt and then Alex says, "I have no fucking clue why you aren't having visions as much, Brian."

"It's just - strange."

"You think its strange that you _aren't_ dreaming of some man you've never met? Someone you don't even know?"

He knows him.

Brian closes his eyes and bites down on the thought.

"No, I think it's weird to dream about someone for years constantly and then to stop."

"Have they stopped?"

Brian shakes his head, fuzzy edges around his vision, and he gets up, heading into the kitchen to grab some water. He's suddenly really thirsty.

"Not exactly. They're - getting less."

"Less?"

"Less. Not as clear, not as detailed. I can't - see them like I used to."

"Maybe it's the drugs."

Brian snorts because. Okay, yeah. "Alex."

There's another deep sigh and the creak of a couch. "I'm going to say this fast and then I'm hanging up. I've got an incredible fuck waiting for me. So just listen."

Brian waits and listens.

"Maybe you should think about the fact that these dreams all started when you decided to move."

Brian blinks but doesn't respond.

"I'm not saying that's the main reason. I still think it has to do with some internal struggle you've been having for the last few years. But I'm not ruling out that it might have been your mind's way of coping."

"With homesickness? Are you fucking kidding me right now, Alex?"

"Is that completely out of the realm of possibility, Brian? You're making concrete plans to come back to Pittsburgh for an unknown amount of time and the dreams are starting to fade."

After a long pause, Alex speaks again, quietly. "You're not crazy, Brian."

He snorts.

"Okay, well, you're not crazier than you were to begin with."

"I can't believe I pay you for this."

"You _don't_ pay me, asshole!"

Brian hangs up, eats the leftover Thai in the kitchen and rolls another joint.

 

*

 

Brian admits he wasn't sure of Mel's choice in real estate agents. He watches his agent now as she talks firmly with the seller and is impressed. Jennifer Taylor didn't like bullshit. They had that in common.

She also liked to please her clients and went out of her way to meet their wishes. He doesn't think he would have found the site for the offices if she hadn't taken his "think outside the box" directions to heart. Once he'd had a fit over the original listings she'd given him.

He glances around the room, surprised how much it had changed. But he still knows these rooms. The slope of the ceiling toward the back corner near where the flat screen is going to go. There's the loose second step on the stair heading downstairs. He can see it like he already has. Without the scattering of belongings or the furniture.

"I connected the first and second floors for my own benefit. My partner needed his own space for work."

"What kind of work?" Jennifer pulls out her pen and starts to take notes. Brian hides a smile, stays to the background as they talk.

"He was a welder."

They both turn to stare at the man.

"A welder."

"That's right. I found him fucking his assistant one night. Almost burned the place down."

Brian meets Jennifer's gaze and arches a brow. She ducks her head and covers the laugh with her hand. "Well, I think Mr. Kinney wouldn't -"

"Wait, didn't you own this place before?"

Brian glances over, hands behind his back and nods. "The floor not the whole building." He heads to the elevator and motions for Jennifer. "The studio is on the third floor, right?" He looks behind him and stops in his track at the confusion he sees on both Jennifer and the seller's faces.

"There's nothing on the third floor. Most of my ex's work was done on the first floor."

Brian shakes his head. That couldn't be right. He remembers…

They're staring at him so he shrugs. "Must have confused this with one of the other listings we're scheduled for."

Jennifer narrows her eyes but doesn't give him away.

They hadn't made any other appointments. This was what he had wanted.

The whole building…

He waits until they're in the car on the way back to his hotel before he tells Jennifer to make an offer. She smiles and gives him an appraising look from across the expanse of the car.

"You aren't what I thought you'd be."

Brian meets her eyes and tilts his head. "I'm not?"

She shakes her head, returns her eyes to the road. "No. You aren't."

He doesn't know how to take that.

 

*

 

The parking lot is gray and long, narrow all the way down. Brian realizes it's tunnel vision, that the space is bigger than it seems. He runs toward the bleary figures, sees the movement of the arm, hears the sound again - _CRUNCH_ \- and it's a blur of fists and other bones breaking.

He hits the concrete loud, pain sharp in his knees but it doesn't register. He grabs onto the limp body, rocks back and forth, voice screaming….

He wakes with a violent tremble, runs to bathroom and barely makes it to the toilet before his dinner comes back up.

 

*

 

His first week back in Pittsburgh is busy with contractors, vendors, clients that he stole from his previous employer, decorators for both home and the offices, meetings with Jennifer, with Ted (who asks him why he wants to work with a recovering junkie and Brian doesn't tell him that it's because he _is_ recovering, wonders if Ted will ever know his own worth) on the set up of accounts and departments. He leaves most of the work to him and Cynthia, makes suggestions when he thinks its for the best but he knows he can trust them.

This company is theirs as much as his. He has plans for them in the future.

Michael is patient for the first couple of days when Brian keeps putting him off but after the sixth day of breakfast being cancelled, he bitches that Brian needs to eat - god damn it - and takes no excuses.

He finds himself seating in the corner booth, boards and papers spread out across the table. Michael rolls his eyes and reminds him that the food is coming. Brian makes a face and stacks the most important on the empty seat next to him. Ben joins them, briefly pats Brian's shoulder before he kisses Michael thoroughly. Brian glances up and remembers that the Professor is a pretty damn good kisser.

He doesn't think much of the noise from the back, smirking when he hears muffled arguing.

"Justin and the new cook still not getting along?" Ben asks, amused.

Brian's hand trembles and he fists it to make it stop. He really needs to not come into this fucking diner if this is always going to happen.

"Oh, yeah." Michael pauses and Brian hears the smile in his voice when he says, "Speak of the devil."

"Hey, Michael! Ben!"

He freezes at the voice, fingers clench the folder in his hands.

"Justin, hey! You know how I'm always going on about my best friend, well, this is him. Justin Taylor meet Brian Kinney."

Brian can't look up. There's just - he can't.

"So you're the infamous Brian Kinney."

Brian closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and looks up.

Motherfucking fuck fuck fuck.

Apparently he and Alex were both wrong. He has gone completely round the bend or something.

This is not happening to him.

The blond head that he knows every strand off tilts to the side, watching him closely.

Brian thinks that a dream guy you make up shouldn't really be that fucking good looking in real life.

Justin extends his hand and Brian just blinks at him.

There's the longest pause while Justin waits, staring at him with interest. "It's nice to meet you, Brian."

He forces his hand out, takes the soft palm in his, _knows_ how it will feel and then without meaning to, he lets out a laugh. He can't believe this shit.

Justin's clear blue eyes sparkle with his own laughter, smile tugging at his lips and Brian knows how wide those lips are, how they feel around his cock, in his mouth, against his skin.

He stands up quickly, gathers his stuff, and nods at Justin.

"It was - this is fucking bizarre."

He doesn't explain and keeps moving even when Michael calls out his name several times. He walks quickly down the street, ducks into the nearest alley and presses his forehead to the wall. The sharp bits of brick dig into his skin and he breathes through it.

He was losing his fucking mind.

"Fuck me."

Someone seems to appear next to him and Brian turns his head, finds a young face and crooked smile. He shakes his head.

"Not you."

He rolls the tension from his shoulders and steps back out, heads for his temporary apartment. He needs a drink.

Then he needs a fucking phone.

 

*

 

The silence is heavy through the phone line as Brian pours another glass of Beam, takes a couple of deep gulps and puts it down with a small clink. It sounds louder in the quiet of the room.

"Let me get this straight," Alex begins and Brian is pretty sure that he's drinking something strong right about now too, "You saw your dream guy?"

"In the flesh."

"Brian…"

"I'm not losing my fucking mind, Alex. I saw him. He was there, standing with his-" Brian has no idea how to finish that sentence. "Justin Taylor, what the fuck."

Alex chokes on the phone, squeaks out a "Justin Taylor?" coughs a few times, then tries again. "Justin Taylor. That's your - guy?"

"I take it you know him."

He hears a large snort and says, "You can say that, yeah."

Brian feels tightness in his chest and says, "This is fucked up, Alex. I don't even - I've never seen him before in my life."

Alex doesn't make a sound and Brian thinks that the most honest reaction because what exactly was there left to say.

 

*

 

He has a vivid memory - that's how he would describe it - of Justin mouthing along his spine, hands flexing over the muscles of his back, breath falling wet against his skin.

Brian trembles.

 

*

 

He signs the final papers for the building - his house he supposes - and feels a surge of - what? He doesn't really know. Brian moves the pen across the paper and hands it back to Jennifer.

Something occurs to him.

"Jennifer?"

She brings her attention over to him and smiles, waiting.

"You have any kids?"

The question catches her by surprise but she recovers fast, smile getting wider and he recognizes the shape even before she speaks.

"I have two. My daughter, Molly who just turned twelve. And my son, Justin."

Brian is pretty sure that this joke isn't anywhere near funny anymore.

 

*

 

The dreams stop completely.

 

*

 

He isn't avoiding the diner or Michael even if it seems that way. Starting his own advertising company sucks so much of _his_ time that Brian doesn't even have the energy to suck or get sucked anywhere else. He wakes up to plans, meetings, lunches and strategy conferences. Two nights out of the week, he ends up sleeping on the couch in his newly finished office. He made sure his, Ted and Cynthia's would be done first. No one he works with is spending much time doing anything else either.

He manages to forget about anything other than work.

Until Justin Taylor walks in through the glass doors of his office. Brian watches him study the room and stops from asking what he thinks of the decoration. He doesn't know Justin, no matter what his mind tells him.

Justin's eyes meet Brian's and he smiles tentatively.

"Hi. Remember me?"

Brian stops the laugh before it escapes and stands up, reaching his hand out. He can handle this now that he's prepared.

"The ubiquitous Justin Taylor."

Justin laughs and Brian quells the shiver down his spine.

"I'm not sure how accurate that actually is."

Brian is sure this is the most surreal conversation he's had sober. He motions toward one of the empty chairs and looks at Justin expectantly.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Taylor?"

The smile is slow and brightens the room as it grows.

"I think it's more what I can do for you, Mr. Kinney."

Brian raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"And what exactly is that?"

Justin's gaze falls to Brian's mouth and for one second Brian has the flash of an image - Justin on his back across Brian's desk, legs over Brian's shoulders, body arching up in pleasure, mouth hanging open while Brian fucks into him - and when he blinks, Justin is staring at him like he knows exactly what Brian was thinking.

They stare across at one another and Brian is pleased when Justin averts his eyes first. It puts him back in control and he likes that. He needs that.

Justin clears his throat then leans forward, sliding the small portfolio Brian hadn't even noticed he was carrying across the desk toward him. "Michael said that you were opening your own company. He mentioned that you might want someone to design the logo, letterhead. Thought I should come down and show you my work."

Brian stares at the leather bound book for a long time before he returns his gaze to Justin.

He looks nervous and Brian catches him rubbing his right wrist gently. He doesn't ask, just opens the portfolio and starts flipping through pages. Most of the beginning pages are other designs - Liberty Gym, Emmett and Vic's catering company, Michael's store. Others a little fancier and he recognizes Jennifer's logo among them.

"I'm an artist. Mostly paint. Some textiles."

"I know."

He says it before he realizes he has, ignores the pleased smile that Justin sends him.

"I had no idea my awesome talent was known far and wide."

Brian laughs without meaning to, watches it reach Justin and makes him smile wider.

"I've seen some of your work."

Justin looks surprised.

Brian shrugs. "Michael."

"Right. I forget - is it weird that you and I have never met?"

He swallows hard.

"Not really. I didn't live here."

Justin shakes his head. "But we should have met. I've been friends with Michael for a few years. It's just - "

Brian shrugs again. "It's not that important."

"Hmmm. So, are you interested?"

He looks up, knows the meaning of that is more than just business cards and letterhead designs.

"I might be. Think I need to see what you have in mind."

Justin grins. "I've been brainstorming for a couple of days." He looks down at his watch, makes a face and glances back up. "I have a couple of appointments. How about dinner?"

Brian stops and stares.

"Are you asking me out?"

Justin snorts, shakes his head quickly. "No, that's - not like. I don't like dates. I don't do that."

Brian breathes a little easier. "Good man."

"More a business dinner. We can go over…things."

Business dinner.

Brian nods. "Okay. Not tonight. I have a couple of other things to do. We can meet early tomorrow."

Justin nods, takes the paper with Brian's information and stands to leave. "So, tomorrow."

There's some commotion at the door and Justin closes his eyes, letting out a soft "Shit."

Brian glances at him before the ball of fury rams through his door.

"Did you manage to get what you wanted, asshole? Can we go now?"

He blinks a few times.

He hates his life a little more every day.

Daphne stops mid-stride when she sees Brian, her eyes widening and then her scowl turns into a grin. "Well, small fucking world." She waves at him and Brian nods back at her.

"Daphne."

He doesn't know why he remembers her name but he guesses it _would_ be hard to forget the girl really.

Justin looks back and forth between them.

"You know each other?"

Brian shakes his head while Daphne nods, turning back to Justin. "This is the guy I told you about. The gorgeous, sarcastic bastard I sat next to in first class."

He kind of likes that description.

Justin's head swivels to look at him, eyes bigger than before. "Oh." He grabs Daphne's arm, starts toward the door, calls back to Brian over his shoulder. "So, okay. Tomorrow."

Brian stands in the middle of his office and watches the door close silently behind them.

He knows what people would say if he told them about his dreams. About Jennifer and Daphne.

But Brian doesn't believe in that shit. Fate isn't real.

He's in charge of his life.

Nothing and no one else is.

 

*

 

Brian misses dreaming. It wasn't always pleasant, he knows that. There was more than one occasion when he really wished that he hadn't dreamt at all. Those nightmares of blood and screams - he figures they were his own - fear and loss.

He fucking hated those.

It's the others, that he feels like an empty ache.

Something about the Brian he was in those times… happy. Maybe.

He closes his eyes, bites back a moan when the lips wrapped around his cock tighten and he pretends he doesn't realize they feel wrong.

 

*

 

"So."

Brian meets Michael's eyes in the mirror, raises an eyebrow as he waits. He glances at his reflection, makes a face at the tie in his right hand and studies the one in the opposite hand. When Michael doesn't automatically continue, Brian turns to look at him directly.

"What?"

"I just - I'm surprised is all."

He really needs to brush up on his Michael speak because he is completely lost. He figures his face gives him away when Michael sighs, shrugs and says "You and Justin."

Brian freezes.

"What?"

That's the only word that he seems to know currently.

"This date thing."

Brian shakes his head, ignores that little voice in the back of his head that's laughing at him. "It's not a date."

Michael snorts.

"Michael. It's a business dinner."

He feels Michael's gaze on him and looks over, catches something in his face and frowns.

"Is there something I'm missing?"

Michael starts to speak then just as quickly he snaps his mouth shut, shakes his head.

"Good. I don't need you starting shit. And please, don't go spreading that around."

When he glances in the mirror, Michael is hiding a smile.

Brian is going to punch him.

 

*

 

Justin eats more than anyone Brian has ever known. It's not a surprising fact since he'd known that. It was one of the million bits of knowledge that he had access to about Justin. But knowing and actually witnessing were two completely different things.

He flips another page in the presentation Justin had brought, making notes mentally on what he liked, what he thought would be perfect, and maybe what could work if they tweaked it. The designs are simple in color, the lettering intricate without overdoing it.

He feels Justin's stare and glances up, blinks at the quick grin he receives. "What?"

"It's just - this is really strange."

Brian's brow furrows and he looks around their table. "I eat dinner pretty frequently."

Justin rolls his eyes, laughs softly and Brian shivers just a little. "I meant… us meeting this way." Brian doesn't respond and Justin doesn't wait. "You know my best friend. I know yours. We've had the same circle of friends for a few years and never met until now? It's just strange."

Brian starts to deny that it was. He's been avoiding thinking about it. But what he says surprises them both.

"Your mom is my real estate agent."

Justin pauses, blinks at Brian, his mouth open in an O and Brian shrugs. "So maybe we need to expand our mutual acquaintances some."

"No shit."

Brian flashes a grin, watches how Justin's gaze focuses on it, pupils darkening slightly before he meets Brian's eyes. He shakes his head, forking more of his potatoes into his mouth as he points at the folder in Brian's hand. He chews and swallows as Brian watches the line of his throat. He needs to take a deep breath and fists his hands on his legs to keep from reaching out and touching. He wants to trace that path with fingers and tongue and teeth. Already knows what it tastes like, where to lick to make Justin moan.

"So."

He manages to keep his face blank when he brings his attention back to what Justin is saying and ignores the knowing look he receives in return.

"Tell me how brilliant I am and how you want me."

Brian stares.

"For the job, of course."

Justin's grin is cocky and sure, full of so many things that Brian will never admit he wishes he could have.

"You're a confident little fucker, aren't you?"

Justin shrugs, carefully piling his fork before meeting Brian's eyes. "Only one way to find out." He takes in his bite, eyes never leaving Brian's.

He is _so_ fucking screwed.

 

*

 

He didn't fuck Justin right after their business dinner (he refuses to call it a date, no matter what Michael says) and if anyone had asked, he couldn't have come up with any reason why he didn't. Not one. Justin was hot. Justin was interesting. Justin was smart.

Most importantly, Justin wanted Brian to fuck him.

The only thing stopping him was knowing - deep down in his bones - _knowing_ it would change everything.

 

*

 

He knows a lot about Justin. The taste of the line of Justin' s back. The softness of the skin between his thighs. The way that Brian's fingers twisting slowly inside him causes Justin to release a moan from deep in his chest.

He knows what Justin looks like when Brian slides inside for the first time. The way his fingers curl into Brian's. The strength of Justin's grip when he touches Brian's hair, his skin, his face.

The first thing he _learns_ about Justin, though, is that he hates bananas.

He watches Justin carefully spoon them out of Debbie's fruit salad, sliding them over to Brian's plate, casting his eyes up and winking at him. Brian rolls his eyes, takes his first bite and notices Ben looking across the table at him. He shrugs as he eats the fruit and fights against returning the grin he receives.

 

*

 

The second thing Brian learns about Justin is that he pours his all into the art he creates. He could have guessed that.

He sits in the booth, across from Justin and tries not to watch his hands moving over his drawing pad. He keeps his gaze down, reads his paper and ignores what he knows Justin is doing. Michael and Ben plop into the booth and Brian scoots toward the wall. Justin does the same.

Ben sits to Brian's left and leans over, studies Justin's sketch and when he glances at Brian, there's a smile twitching on his mouth. He doesn't say anything, just turns to his menu.

Michael doesn't have the same instinct of keeping his thoughts to himself.

"What are you doing?"

Brian thinks that the new mayoral race is a joke. Who the fuck would vote for an asshole like Stockwell? He knows Justin is looking at Michael now.

"What?"

"You're sketching Brian."

"Yeah."

"And you're okay with this?"

Brian glances up to meet Michael's stare before he turns back to his paper and says, "Am I hot?"

Ben laughs, glances at the sketch and nods. "It's a good likeness."

Brian looks over at him, raises an eyebrow and smirks. "So I'm hot." He briefly meets Justin's eyes, notices the deeper blue that Brian knows is for him alone and shrugs.

"Justin knows what's worth drawing."

"I do."

Brian looks back down at his paper.

 

*

 

The third thing Brian learns about Justin is that he doesn't know the word subtle. It's not even in his vocabulary. Brian realizes he is not exactly familiar with the concept either. He hates bullshit.

Blunt and to the point.

That's just the way he likes it.

He doesn't think much when Justin is everywhere he is because if he did then it would mean he had to admit to himself that he looked for him when he walked into a room. It wasn't _that_ bad.

And even if it was, Brian didn't look at it too closely.

He steps inside Babylon, feels the surge of energy that immediately surrounds him. Breaths in the sweat, heat, sex and smiles as he feels eyes following his progress across the floor. He reaches the bar, asks for his regular and leans back to survey the room, find what he wants. He flashes to Justin and shakes his head.

Emmett pops up at his side, drags him toward the dance floor and Brian swallows back his drink as he follows. The beat flows over him at first and he leans back, lets his body meld against the one behind him. He watches Emmett under his eyelashes and when he leaves with his own warm body a few minutes later, Brian walks toward the back.

His body buzzes, chemically enhanced thanks to his dance partner but underneath he feels that raw need. He wants to fuck someone. Fast and dirty and hard.

He makes his way through sweaty bodies, clinging against one another, gyrating to sounds only they can hear. Let's the music they make - the deep bass of moans and pitched notes of release envelope him, eyes roaming over the room, searching for what he wants.

His stomach drops to his feet and he stops, gaze fixed on the opposing wall. He lets his eyes wander over Justin's frame, hands gripping shoulders. Brian strolls slowly, angles for a clearer view and leans back, watches Justin's face. His eyelids flutter when he fucks inside the little twink bent over for him. When he opens them, they find Brian's and he stutters, mouth opens in a gasp before finding his rhythm again.

Brian senses someone kneel at his feet, the zipper of his jeans is undone and he sucks in a quick breath when his cock is enveloped in heat. He tears his gaze from Justin's and tries to concentrate. He digs his fingers into damp hair and jerks his hips. The blowjob is sloppy and it leaves him frustrated. He can feel everything pooling at the base of his spine. He brings his gaze back to Justin.

Justin's head lolls back, exposing the line of his neck. Brian bites in a moan, closes his eyes and pushes harder in, fucks the mouth around his dick. He makes out groans, the slapping of skin stopping and he opens to see Justin pull out. His cock is red and engorged. Brian follows Justin fingers as they pull off the condom.

Their eyes meet and Justin saunters - that's the _only_ fucking word for it - his way over to Brian, pants open, his penis still exposed. When he reaches Brian, he leans his head on Brian's shoulder, breath warm against his skin.

"Brian."

Justin's voice is rough and needy. Brian rubs his cheek against Justin's head, ghost of a kiss against silky hair. He feels teeth scrap his shaft and he groans out loud. He can feel it - the surge starting to spread down his legs and through his arms.

There's a strange hand fumbling at Justin's pants and Brian swats it away.

"You keep doing what you're doing."

Brian holds the twink's head in place, moves into the mouth slowly, and brings his other hand down to Justin's pants, grips hard and slides it over the hot muscle, thumbing the head. Justin shudders, dropping open mouth kisses on Brian's neck in between moans and Brian tightens his hold. He lets Justin fuck into his hand, follows the rhythm. Their breathing comes in pants and when Justin spills over Brian's hand, everything seems to stop.

Brian remembers this. What it felt like. Knows what it will feel like when his mouth crashes into Justin.

He comes hard, leans his head against Justin and stays until he can breath evenly again.

His chest aches and he opens his eyes, finds Justin's watching him.

They break apart and Justin fixes Brian's hair, smoothes it away. When he's satisfied, he gives Brian a bright grin. "I'm willing to wait."

Brian's eyes follow him out of the room.

 

*

 

What he didn't know about Justin and finds ridiculously hot even when it annoys the fuck out of him is his stubbornness. Brian has never met a more persistent little shit in his life.

And he is a sneaky motherfucker.

After the back room, Brian tries to avoid Justin.

It was too close to everything he knows never belonged to him. It's easier the other way. Ignorance is bliss and all that fucking clarity does is make your life more miserable.

Brian finds new clients to woo. He stays in most nights, gets his fucks from the computer or as a quickie in the bathroom at Woody's, the diner, the alley behind Babylon. He can't go in the backroom yet and doesn't wonder why. Just deals with it. The few times he is available, it's dinner at Debbie's (to get her off his back) or a fast drink at the bar.

Justin is always there but to Brian's relief (and slight irritation), he doesn't seem affected by what happens. He treats Brian the same. Mild flirting and innuendos, makes jokes at his expense, lets Brian do the same. It's like it never happened.

Brian's perfectly fine with that.

He prefers it that way.

The first time he fucks someone else in the bathroom at the diner, he isn't sure what to expect. But when he strolls back out and glances at Justin, he gets a raised eyebrow and _nicely done_ expression. He heads to the counter and doesn't even notice when his bathroom partner stops at his side. He gives Brian his number, telling him to call and Brian doesn't even watch him walk out the door.

Brian blinks down at the paper, looks up at Justin. He sees something flit across Justin's face. He hands him the number and motions to the trashcan. Justin crumbles the paper and throws it away then continues with re-telling the epic story of Emmett and his newly-outed football player.

 

*

 

It was inevitable.

He knew that from the beginning but no one can say Brian doesn't try. The dreams are no longer a part of his life and he misses them, he does. But the longer Justin is around, the less that emptiness exists.

There's a fear in the back of his mind. He never remembers all the details of his dreams but he knows enough that he can sense there's something out there waiting for them.

What it is, he couldn't say.

Brian doesn't believe in fate. Or happily ever after. Or love.

He tells himself that when Justin grins up at him as he walks into Debbie's house.

He chants it silently in his mind when Justin hugs him and his hand lingers on Brian's skin.

He repeats it when Justin sits next to him on the sofa and leans his head on Brian's shoulder.

Debbie watches them and he doesn't look away when she stares at him for a long moment. She finds whatever she's looking for and nods before returning to Carl.

 

*

 

He kisses Justin for the first time in Michael's old room at Debbie's house. Brian knows everything was leading up to it. Justin had gotten under his skin like no one ever had and Brian was an asshole, stubborn, even a cruel fucker when necessary.

But he wasn't a liar.

And he _wanted_ Justin.

Like he hadn't wanted anyone or anything in his life.

He also knows that he _needs_ to have Justin.

Justin is quiet all through dinner and when they're done, he disappears upstairs. When he doesn't come back down after almost an hour, Brian goes to look for him. He finds him in Michael's room, sketchbook open on the bed. Justin is standing near Michael's desk, staring at an old photo of Brian and Michael when they were fourteen.

"You hiding for a reason?"

Justin smiles over his shoulder at Brian and shrugs. "Not on purpose. I've got things on my mind."

Brian nods and waits. Justin never needs prompting. If he wanted to talk, he would. He sits on the bed and watches Justin rub the back of his neck. The sigh he lets out is deep and the closest to sad that Brian has ever really heard from him. Justin didn't dwell on crap. He dealt and moved on. It was one of the things Brian liked about him.

"I ran into Ethan today."

Brian freezes.

He kind of hates that name.

Justin never went into much detail about his relationship which Brian was grateful for. Their group had a tendency for the dramatics so the less of it the better but what he knew was enough to want to kick the little fiddler's ass.   
He'd forced Justin into the closet for his career and then broke his promise which in Brian's head was worse than anything else he could have done. It was why he never made them.

"What did he want?"

"Me to come back. To forgive him. The usual shit he wants."

Brian stares at the back of Justin's head.

"What did you say?"

Justin turns to look at him. "That I wasn't interested."

Brian smirks. "That's all you had to say?"

The grin he receives is huge and Brian blinks at it.

"Well, I actually told him to fuck off only not that nicely."

Brian laughs, catches Justin's gaze on his mouth and something short circuits in his head.

Fuck it.

He stands and is in front of Justin before either one of them can blink. He watches Justin's eyes widen, hears his breathing stop as he pulls him in. Justin swallows hard and Brian's chest expands. He knows that Justin wants him just as much and it's powerful - this moment. It's like being on the edge of a cliff and he has to make the decision whether to take that step away or to let it go.

His lips find Justin, warm and dry. Justin sighs, pulls at Brian and it's all rush of familiar and new and comfort and so much fucking want that Brian can't really breath properly. It's everything he remembers but it isn't the same at all. This isn't a memory, the fragment of a scene in his head.

This is Justin's skin and mouth. Tongue dueling with Brian's, skin hot where Brian touches him, teeth nipping at his lips. Justin's hands are all over, under clothes, on his head. His nails scrape over Brian's arms, digging in with too much force and not enough. Everything is real.

Justin's hands slide up Brian's shirt to grip his shoulders, the material bunches in his fingers, and he leans his forehead on Brian's chin, laughs a little.

"It took you long enough, asshole."

Brian leans down, kisses Justin once and pulls away long enough to reply.

"You have no fucking idea."

He shuts out Justin's reply with his mouth.

 

*

 

Justin in his bed is exactly like Brian remembers. Pale skin, warm mouth, and never ending hunger for whatever he can get. Brian pushes in, breathes the gasp from Justin's mouth and stutters out his own. There's too much and he doesn't know what to do with it all. He leans on one arm and fucks Justin hard and deep.

The sound of skin slapping skin, their groans, Brian's name surrounds them and he can't stop from gripping Justin hair, pulling back to expose that piece of skin he has wanted since before he even knew it existed. He bites down hard, licks to soothe it away. Justin's hands find Brian's head and he pulls until their mouths meet.

When Brian grips Justin's cock and pulls once, twice, Justin comes hot on Brian's hands and chest.

 

*

 

Justin isn't like anyone else Brian has ever known. He doesn't push him for answers when Brian has none. He doesn't demand definition or ask Brian to give something that he isn't ready for. They fall into - he doesn't even know what to call it. It's not any different than before except Brian gets to fuck Justin whenever and wherever. They end up sneaking into the bathroom at the diner and Debbie's a lot.

They fuck like teenagers, which for Justin isn't too far off.

Brian ends up giving Justin a key to the loft to make it easier for both of them.

Justin is there a few nights later, filling up his sketchbook with a frenzy Brian hasn't seen from him before. He doesn't ask any questions. There's Thai waiting for him in the oven and he makes a plate, brings it to the couch and sits on the floor opposite Justin.

Justin finishes his work, gets up and sits on the couch above Brian's head. He runs his fingers slowly through Brian's hair and when Brian is done eating, he stands, sets Brian's plate aside before straddling him.

"I had a fucked up day."

Brian stares at him for a minute. "I can fix that."

He scoots Justin closer, catches their mouths together and slides them to the floor.

 

*

 

Brian grasps Justin's wrist, starts massaging the way he always sees Justin doing. He knows the story behind it isn't something Justin likes to talk about.

"I ran into Hobbs today."

That would explain it.

Brian tenses next to Justin, feels his fingers twine with Brian's before he starts speaking.

"He seems to be the same asshole he always was."

Brian thinks that word doesn't really cover it. He doesn't respond, just lets Justin roll onto his chest and brushes his hand over Justin's back. Brian didn't know anything about Justin when Hobbs had attacked him, damaging Justin's hand. He knew that Hobbs had never paid and it was still something that he had to live with.

Justin kissed his way up Brian's chest, hovering over his mouth. "Thank you."

Brian shakes his head and pulls him closer.

 

*

 

He had a bad day.

All he wants is to go home and hopes to find Justin.

So, he goes to Babylon instead.

He drinks enough to make him forget, fucks two guys in the backroom and dances with Emmett until he can't anymore. Michael pours him into a taxi and he stumbles through the door, finds Justin leaving. When he sees Brian, he drops his bag to help him to the bed.

Brian blacks out.

He wakes up to find two aspirins, a bottle of water on his bedside table. He searches for a note.

"Hey."

He moves his head carefully and meets Justin's amused stare.

"Hi." Brian croaks out and cringes at the sound.

Justin shakes his head, crosses the room, and climbs onto the bed, crawling towards Brian. He pushes Brian back against the mattress and lies down next to him.

Brian doesn't think about how good it feels.

 

*

 

He knew Michael would never let it go. Brian hopes he doesn't have to deal with him at all. But that's not how it works out. He does feel a false sense of security when the weeks pass and nothing comes of it.

It's a Friday. Michael wants to go out and Brian decides they need a little refreshment before heading to the club. He hands Michael the joint, releasing the smoke in his lungs.

"Are you in love with him?"

Brian chokes a little, sputters a string of curses and sits up. Michael pounds on his back until he stops coughing. He gives Brian a wry, amused grin and says, "I'll take that as a yes."

Brian shakes his head. "It's not - that's not it at all."

Michael snorts. He pats Brian's shoulder, hands him the toke and lays back down.

He fucking _hates_ Michael sometimes.

 

*

 

He wakes up in a cold sweat and feels Justin's warm hands on his back. They card through Brian's damp hair, soothing quietly. His lips murmur against Brian's skin, dropping small kisses along Brian's jaw.

"Are you okay?"

Brian nods. "Yeah."

"Bad dream?"

It was the same nightmare he's had for years now. Justin, blood, Brian's scream. The same parking lot and shadowed walls. Brian's heart races and he closes his eyes, forces the images away.

"You could say that."

Justin makes an _hmm_ sound and trails his fingers up Brian's arm. They've been in this position before. Usually it's Justin that needs the comfort. He still has nightmares from everything he'd dealt with. Brian wants to punch something anytime Justin trembles against him with fear.

"It was about you."

Justin freezes, raises his head to stare into Brian's eyes.

Brian's never liked secrets. They make everything worse.

"Right. I have something to tell you."

Justin blinks a few times before he nods his head. Brian can feel the tension running over his spine and he curls one hand around Justin's neck, pulls him closer.

"I've had these dreams for years…"

 

*

 

Lindsay and Melanie's wedding wasn't something Brian had been looking forward to. He was happy for them in his own way. Or at least he didn't give them as a hard a time as they expected. But he hates the idea of being there.

Justin bribes him with talk of Babylon and a little three person game.

Brian is getting _way_ too easy.

The wedding bores him to no end but when Justin smoothes one hand down his back, resting it against Brian's waist, he relaxes into the gesture. He stifles a groan while Justin mutters dirty words that conjure even dirtier images.

He gets half-drunk with Emmett and Ben on two bottles of champagne.

When Chris Hobbs shows up as a server for the reception, Brian thinks it's the sign that he needs. He wants to take Justin home and do what he's wanted to with him all day. Justin disagrees.

"I'm not letting that fucker scare me away, Brian."

Brian clenches his jaw. "That's not what this is."

"Yes, it would be and you know it. This is important to Lindsay and Mel. It's a huge deal to me."

He doesn't argue further. Justin is fucking stubborn on a good day.

So, they stay.

Justin dances while Brian watches. His eyes drift to Hobbs more than once and each time catches the other man staring at Justin. Brian squeezes his drink hard when Hobbs walks outside. He's on a break, Brian guesses.

Good.

He motions to Emmett, points to the door and waits for the answering nod of understanding. He swallows the rest of his drink and walks outside. The air is crisp for spring and Brian breathes in. He smells cigarette smoke and follows the scent until he finds Chris Hobbs leaning against the side of the house. He takes a drag of his butt, stares at Brian while he does.

Brian doesn't realize what he's going to do until he has Hobbs' neck between his hands. He tightens his grip, pushes back into the wall and leans in close.

"Listen to me, you fucking piece of trash. Are you listening?"

Hobbs makes a motion that would be a nod if Brian's arm wasn't pinning him in place.

"I know you got away with hurting Justin before. And that in your sick mind, it gives you free reign to try again. But let me assure you, if you touch him , ever, I will kill you."

Hobbs eyes widen and Brian smirks unkindly. "They'll find you in pieces, Hobbs. I promise you that. So, whatever you were thinking of doing, don't." He pulls back, releases the death grip on Hobbs' throat and backs away as he smoothes out his own suit jacket.

He re-enters quietly and sees Justin searching the room. He moves up behind him, wraps one arm around his waist, whispers into his ear. "Tell me we can get the fuck out of here now, please."

Justin laughs, turning to look into Brian's face and stops, frowning slightly. "What happened?"

Brian raises an eyebrow and shrugs, bluffing. "Nothing."

Justin's eyes narrow but he doesn't get the chance to ask because Debbie shows up at their side and pulls Brian with her to the dance floor. Brian throw a laughing Justin the middle finger as he follows. Debbie pats his face once before he twirls her into the dance.

It's some old song he knows is Debbie's favorite. About a dance and who he gets to go home with. He glances over at Justin, who is having a debate with Ted over who the hell knows what and bites back a small smile. When he turns his attention back to Debbie, she's looking at him with that stupid, sappy grin of hers, eyes watering.

"Debbie. Don't."

"I'm just so happy for you, Brian."

"Oh, god."

"Stop being an asshole about it."

"He can't help that, Deb."

Brian turns to Justin, his gaze imploring for help and almost sighs in relief when Justin puts his hand out and asks, "Mind if I cut in?"

"Please."

Brian steps back and starts to turn but Justin's hand wraps around his wrists, tugging until they're facing each other. He grins up at Brian and slides his hands around Brian's waist and up his back.

Debbie grins at them and goes to find Carl to finish up her dance.

Justin leans his head on Brian's shoulder and they sway to the music. Brian sighs and gives in. What the hell is new? He rubs his chin on Justin's head and huffs out. "You're a sneaky little shit."

"The dreams didn't make that clear?"

Brian snorts. "No, they didn't."

He feels Justin grin against his chest.

"Advantage: Taylor."

"Shove it, Sunshine."

He hears the little intake of breath that causes Justin and looks down into his upturned face. He leans down, kisses him slowly, and feels Justin melt into him. It's still new, this thing with Justin and he doesn't know if it will last. He is sure he'll screw it up more than once. Lindsay and Mel's request isn't something he imagines will be easy for them. He never thought he'd be where he is.

The dreams, the years, the few.

But it's where he finds himself.

And it's where he wants to be.

It's who he wants to be.

Justin is what Brian wants.

Everything else doesn't matter.

 

_End._


End file.
